


The Incident at the Mazeitheileian

by Nonesane



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: M/M, Magic, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 07:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13049604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonesane/pseuds/Nonesane
Summary: The reign of Edrehasivar VII Drazhar was one full of change. One of those changes will be explored in this story, though it is not the focus of our tale. No, this story will follow Edrehasivar's nohecharis Cala Athmaza as his Emperor makes a decision that sets of a chain of events that leaves to a hotel in ashes and the imperial retinue sleeping in pavilions under the stars. Who set fire to the Golden Serpent? And why?





	1. The Ancient River

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenall/gifts).



Someone was shaking him awake. By the brusque yet gentle touch, Cala could tell it was Deret. No, _Beshelar_. It had to be morning now, so it also had to be Beshelar.  
  
Blindly reaching for his spectacles Cala stifled a yawn and sat up. Then he blinked. He might be nearsighted but he could tell the pavilion was not light enough for dawn to have passed yet. “Whatever is the matter?” A splash of cold rushed down his spine, ice-water despite the pleasant temperature of the late summer air. “Has something else gone wrong?”  
  
In reply, he got a huff of breath. Anyone who knew Beshelar well could tell it for the snort it was - and Cala knew Beshelar very well. Spectacles in place Cala looked up at his fellow nohecharei and had to smile at the mixture of annoyance and defeat that Beshelar wore. Beshelar never let his shoulders slump but this morning they obviously bore an invisible weight.  
  
“Again?” Cala asked now that the last sleep had cleared from his mind.  
  
“Again,” Beshelar confirmed, standing back from the bed. Though bed was a generous word for it. Not even the proper accompaniments of the imperial retinue could conjure beds made for moving along roads from morning until nightfall. This said, the more makeshift sleeping arrangements of the pavilion were far more comfortable than most beds in Ethuveraz - at least from Cala’s experience.  
  
Once dressed and ready to face the world outside their tent, Cala made sure to hide his amusement from any curious onlookers. They were not the first to awaken, which was to be expected. The vast expanse of the imperial campsite was active at all hours, guards patrolling the perimeter, servants tending to horses, cleaning, cooking and preventing embers from turning into flames in the heating pans belonging to those nobles who wished to chase away the nightly chill of approaching autumn.  
  
The morning was indeed early, Oserian and Anmura entwined for a little longer with only the hint of light visible where the top of cliffs met the star-speckled sky. Cala would not complain. He and Beshelar had received plenty of time to their own devices the previous day. This, he suspected, was according to His Imperial Serenity’s plans. As full of unexpected ideas as the current Emperor of the Elflands could be he was also ever considerate of those who would be affected by his decisions. Cala knew to be grateful for this. Speculations had circulated the Untheileneise Court from the moment Edrehasivar VII began to take part in politics in earnest about when he would change his tune, reveal his true face.  
  
It could be disheartening to dwell on how distrustful of kindness the court at large could be.  
  
“I can’t believe this,” Cala heard Beshelar mutter under his breath and couldn’t help but smile. For a man so fond of tradition and propriety Beshelar let his emotions abscond with him on a close to daily basis.  
  
“Surely thou canst,” Cala whispered, enjoying a final moment of personal closeness before they got into range of curious ears. “His Imperial Serenity did suggest to go with two nohecharei as usual. This was all thine idea I must remind thee.”  
  
Beshelar did not roll his eyes heavenward but the way his ears twitched told Cala he’d been close to it.  
  
They made their way among the tall, silken tents, Cala a handful of steps behind Beshelar. They received a mixture of amiable and respectful nods and bows from the servants who’d begun the intricate work of disassembling the elaborate pavilions for the day’s travels. It was a rare sight to find such an abundance of courtiers resting out under the open sky at daybreak, leagues from the Untheileneise Court. Unusual sights were becoming strongly associated with the rule of Edrehasivar though he had reigned less than two years. This knowledge filled Cala with pride. They were _good_ unusual sights.  
  
All would not agree with that, of course, which was not necessarily an ill thing. This spontaneous journey about Ethuveraz had set the court aflame with apprehension and gossip, yet Cala could say nothing against it. It had been sparked by the approaching imperial wedding. Though Edrehasivar had assured his household that he knew all of what the last months of the betrothal would entail, with the ceremonial separation of himself and his empress-to-be, there had obviously been information he’d not been previously given in what that separation would mean.  
  
Before Edrehasivar VII’s reign, not many had spared thought to the inconvenience or boredom of the empress-to-be as she spent the month before her wedding confined to her personal quarters. Well, there was the story of Empress Varazhelo but no scholar could ascertain whether that was a true piece of history or a romanticized folktale. As things stood, Edrehasivar’s growing concern for his bride-to-be caught even his closest supporters by surprise. Dach’osmin Csethiro Ceredin would not be left to languish in her quarters; she could invite any company she wished for, any entertainment. Edrehasivar was assured of this again and again, and eventually, he let his worries be eased. At least that was the appearance he had given to those who would ask.  
  
Spontaneous did not hold the same meaning to the imperial court as it did to a miller or a baker. Edrehasivar had, unsurprisingly, begun to push the limits of this whenever he saw the need. While he soon had ceased openly speaking of concerns for Dach’osmin Ceredin during the weeks leading up the seclusion he had begun to bring up questions regarding the surrounding cities and the ongoing work on the _Wisdom Bridge_ across the Istandaärtha, and so on and so forth. In the end, these questions had resulted in a much compromised travel plan.  
  
The Emperor did not traverse Ethuveraz only for the journey itself - until he did. With arguments such as the haunting memory of Varenechibel IV’s murder and the recent unrest among the working class Edrehasivar had over the course of weeks upon weeks maneuvered the Corazhas and Lord Chancellor Berenar to agree to Edrehasivar gallivanting from city to city for almost a month’s time.  
  
This month of travel just happened to coincide with the empress-to-be’s time of seclusion.  
  
Edrehasivar had argued that Dach’osmin Ceredin should have access to all rooms she could visit on any other day, if she was in the company of guards, as there now was no risk of her crossing the Emperor’s path. No one had found the energy to argue the possible impropriety of this with his Imperial Serenity for any length of time. He was, technically, correct in his reasoning.  
  
And thus they found themselves here among cliffs in the vicinity of Lohaiso in Thu-Evresar, with members of all the main houses having sent at least one representative for this unorthodox journey. After the year of terrible turmoil following the coronation of Edrehasivar VII, there was little desire to flagrantly oppose the Emperor’s will. Even the poor Count Pazhis Nethenel had sent his cousin and heir, though neither of them spent much time at court. Cala could see him now, standing outside his pavilion in the gray morning light, shivering and smiling at an apologizing servant.  
  
“It is getting too cold to sleep outdoors,” Beshelar said as if addressing the air in front of him. “We should be staying at a hotel as planned, not here.” By ‘we’ he plainly meant Edrehasivar. Beshelar produced enough bodily warmth to serve two and Cala doubted he ever would admit to being uncomfortable even if asked to sleep on bare rocks.  
  
“Plans change,” Cala said, lips quirking up into a smile once more. “You do not question His Serenity’s wisdom, do you, Beshelar?”  
  
That did caused Beshelar’s eyes to roll skyward, a signal of pure exasperation that he only allowed himself while in friendly company.  
  
“Or would you rather His Serenity had ordered the townspeople to vacate their own houses?” Cala continued. He was quite enjoying the cool and fresh air and the light breeze playing among the pavilions, but there was only so far one could push Beshelar before he turned sullen for the rest of the day. “Or rebuild the hotel from the ashes?”  
  
“It would be his right as Emperor to do so.” Beshelar lowered his voice as a maid darted past them, her arms full of laundry. “It would also have been within His Serenity's rights to cancel this whole debacle and return to the Untheileian Court by airship from anywhere.”  
  
“Anywhere that an airship can land,” Cala said, gently side-stepping an overtaxed courier boy stumbling his way among the pavilions on unsteady legs. “His Imperial Serenity did leave the investigation of the oh so sudden fire in the hands of a capable Witness. Did you not think it wise that His Serenity leave a place of potential danger?”  
  
The look this questioned earned him from Beshelar was one of finest cynicism. Beshelar had after all argued at length that the possible threat to the Emperor was a paramount reason to return to the relative safety of the Untheileian Court.  
  
Ahead of them, the campsite opened up, leaving respectful room between Edrehasivar’s lavish pavilion and the rest of the hundreds of elves (and the occasional goblin) of whom the imperial retinue consisted. This left room for what soldiers were not guarding the outer edges of the camp to stand at attention around the pavilion, protecting the Emperor from whatever miracle worker that might manage to make their way through all other safeguards. The remainder of the soldiers were stationed on the tops of the cliffs that surrounded the narrow valley in which the imperial retinue had settled.  
  
“I do wonder if Mer Aisava knew the pavilions would be needed when he added them to our provisions,” Cala mused out loud as they neared their goal. The guards saluted them as they passed, the youngest of them wearing a most nervous expression.  
  
“The First Secretary,” Beshelar said, for that was the in-official title that Mer Aisava had earned himself among the kitchen staff and gossiping nobles alike, “knows the Emperor.” It was Beshelar’s way of saying ‘I am surprised we do not have a ship to carry around as well’ and Cala’s heart warmed at that glimpse of good humor.  
  
They did not go into the pavilion but around it, knowing where Edrehasivar and his Second Nohecherai would be from previous such mornings. Well, the previous such mornings had been spent much closer to civilization and not halfway between two towns, but the pattern was there still.  
  
“Ah, there you are, you dormice!” Captain Vizhenka shouted with all the informality of a full-blooded goblin born and raised in Barizhan. “Then we can finally get underway.” He was already mounted on a black stallion who looked as fierce as any warhorse. It scraped one hoof on the ground as if to mirror its riders impatience.  
  
Edrehasivar, now a year into riding practice, looked at ease on the back of his steed, the gelding Velvet, a gift from the Great Avar. He gave them both his customary un-emperor-like smile; one filled with apology and gratitude for putting up with his antics. Cala knew from experience that the sight of such an expression would send Beshelar into a spiral of conflict between affection and irritation. For Cala, it was just affection.  
  
Neither Cala nor Beshelar made any comment as they mounted their own horses. Captain Vizhenka took the lead, Kiru and Telimezh fell in on either side of Edrehasivar, and Cala brought up the rear alongside the dark-eyed Beshelar.  
  
“It is good for an emperor to know how to ride,” Cala said, unable to hold his tongue in the face of Beshelar’s murderous silence.  
  
Beshelar held his tongue. Cala did not doubt he would receive a reply once their turn at guarding had come to an end. For now, he settled for enjoying the beginning sunshine and the relative peace of time spent outside the imperial retinue.

****

The narrow valley they had made camp inside barely earned the name. It was more a wide crevasse left by some long ago dried out majestic river, on either side guarded by cliff walls that reached as high as thirty feet. Captain Vizhenka led them down a fork in the ancient river’s now dry path, riding down a yet slimmer passage, on the road that would lead them to Soratu, the next town on the Emperor’s long agenda of planned visits.  
  
“We will go only a quarter of an hour’s ride down this way,” Captain Vizhenka assured Telimezh, “and my soldiers will guard the cliffs both ahead and behind us. There is no reason to fret so. The rest will catch up with us in no time.”  
  
Had they been alone, Beshelar would surely have let out a vehement yet curt monologue on the foolishness of this endeavor. As things stood he settled for glaring at the back of Captain Vizhenka’s head. The Captain ignored all such attention and struck up a conversation with Edrehasivar, bold as you please. He sat half-turned in his saddle, managing his horse as well as his words. On the cliffs above, the shadows of imperial guards and Hezhethora could be glimpsed, if one made the effort to spot them. It was as close to privacy as an emperor could expect.  
  
Cala was no great rider, which the stable-hands thankfully had kept in mind. The horse he had been given was old and sure on its hooves, used to inexperienced and nervous riders. Cala let it take the lead and focused instead on his surroundings.  
  
Losing oneself in the watchful rest that is guarding another’s life could be like meditation. One part of the mind stayed alert to any movent or word that might be made against one’s charge, the other lost to calm and repetition. But this day the calmness would not come for Cala. No, thoughts of the burnt remains of a hotel kept needling him, demanding his attention.  
  
The traces of magic had been unmistakable. Not only had the description of the fire been damning - its suddenness, its ferocity, its utter silence, how it had burned none of the hotel’s occupants - but the remaining ashes had held a faint touch of blue color. The _Golden Serpent_ had turned to coal and broken beams in a matter of minutes, without the fire touching any other building. It was as if the maza responsible was shouting their crime to the skies, making not the slightest attempt to cover their tracks or give it the semblance of a regular fire.  
  
The hotel owners had no explanation as to why anyone would burn down their property. The local Witness put in charge of the investigation had agreed and had a reputation for being competent at his work. No one in the town of Ferho that had been questioned could think of any motive for an attack on the proprietors of the _Golden Serpent_ or any of its guests. But they had all, of course, known of the Edrehasivar’s impending arrival and where he and his courtiers would be spending their night in Ferho.  
  
In short, it could be nothing but a brazen and open warning to the Emperor himself. By a maza.  
  
The ghost of Dazhis had haunted Cala from the moment of his treason. He and Kiru had not had much time to speak of it, but they had exchanged enough words on the subject that he knew she was as concerned as he was. He had hoped Dazhis was a lone actor, greedy and seduced by promises of power. Hope of the Athmaz’are’s innocence had grown for each day past the trials of the traitors. But this…  
  
Cala was pulled from these dark thoughts by a shift in the air. He had a word for it on his tongue, knew he should say something to Kiru about it.  
  
There was no explosion, no rustling of stones or shaking of the ground to herald what happened next. One second, the path behind them was clear. The following moment, the top of the cliff walls crumbled, raining rocks down on the road.


	2. The Novice Maza

“Serenity!”  
  
Cala took a deep breath the moment the dust and debris cleared from the air. The sensation from before the rockfall remained in the air, strong now, and very familiar.  
  
“Serenity!” Cala joined his voice to the shouting on instinct. They all got a stammered “We are unharmed” in reply, which lifted one weight from Cala’s mind. Being the least accomplished rider it took him a handful of seconds longer to join the circle forming around the Emperor. On the cliff-tops, the imperial guards had formed orderly, if panicked, lines. The last of the dust settled to the ground, leaving them to hold their breaths and wait for what would come next.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
“Is the Emperor safe?” the appointed guard leader called down to Captain Vizhenka, more a formality than an actual question.  
  
“The Emperor is safe!” Captain Vizhenka called back, equally formal for once.  
  
Cala did not dare trust fully in this judgment and neither did his fellow nohecharei. They kept the circle around Edrehasivar for a moment longer, eyes on the cliffs, the road, the fallen rocks. The boulders and stones filled up the passage behind them too neatly, forming a wall too stable to be caused by nature.  
  
Heartbeat after heartbeat they stayed where they were, on edge and ready for any moment, any sound or spell.  
  
And yet nothing continued to happen.  
  
Captain Vizhenka was the first to break the circle. He was visibly tense, shoulders stiff and head held high. He looked about to speak, but Cala stole the opportunity from him by doing so first:  
  
“Serenity, this was not a natural rockfall. Please allow me to investigate.” His speech was rushed, wishing to get the terrible information out in the open as quickly as possible.  
  
All but Kiru froze. Cala could look at none but Edrehasivar, seeing the dawning realization and horror in his eyes, and feeling shame and grief.  
  
“You are saying this was,” Edrehasivar hesitated and Cala was grateful for the sympathy the pause held, “magic?”  
  
“I am afraid so.” Though the words left his mouth without hindrance they felt like shards of glass against his tongue.  
  
Kiru looked over her shoulder and gave a curt nod. “I sense it too, Serenity. A maza did this.”  
  
Captain Vizhenka did not wait for any further explanation. “Search everywhere!” he bellowed up at the guards. “There is a hostile maza here and I want them found. Now!”  
  
As the guards scrambled to their new task, Cala kept still and held Edrehasivar’s gaze, pleading.  
  
“Cala, Kiru,” Edrehasivar said, looking young and frightened, the mask of Emperor not yet back in its place, “can you not both go together? Would that not-” He cut himself short before he could finish that line of thought. Leaving the Emperor with only soldiers and no maza as nohecharei would be sacrilege.  
  
“Serenity, we have the most experience with the element of earth,” Cala said, using the formal singular. “Let us go investigate the cause of the rockfall.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kiru nod to acknowledge this decision. Being a cleric of Csaivo, Kiru’s studies had naturally tended mainly toward the element of water. In that regard, she knew far more than Cala ever would. But right now they were not trapped by a waterfall or a raging river.  
  
Edrehasivar hesitated yet again. He did Kiru and Cala the honor of not looking to anyone else for advice in this. Instead, he kept his gaze on them, took a deep breath, and said: “Very well. Cala, you go investigate. We will have Captain Vizhenka send guards to aid you.”  
  
Without waiting for further words or orders, Cala dismounted and set off with determined strides. He did his best to ignore Beshelar’s eyes boring into his back. The task ahead of him made that easier than it should have been.  
  
Dazhis may have turned traitor without his knowledge, leaving it for others to stop his crimes. This time, however, Cala would do the right thing. He would find the one responsible for the attack and he would get them all safely out of there. He would.

****

The paths leading up to the cliff-tops were not meant for horses or larger companies. Only local hunters and adventurous youths took the chance at traversing the cliffs when there was a perfectly good road to travel right below them. But Cala had steady feet and the paths were made for elves and not beasts. He made it to the apex in good time, driven there as much by seething rage as by his legs. He did not have Beshelar’s penchant for muttering and making comments when frustrated, instead channeled his bad temper into action.  
  
Two guards met him at the end of the path, stone-faced and mute. They followed his orders to guard his back while he conducted his search without protest. Cala paid them no more mind than that, already focused on the next step he must take.  
  
Taking a deep breath to force his wildly beating pulse to settle, he closed his eyes and reached out.  
  
Magic was not such a mystery once one got to study it. Or rather, like all aspects of the world, it was enigmatic and straightforward in an oxymoronic fashion. All knew rocks were rocks but if you were to ask _how_ or _why_ they were even scholars would have a hard time giving you a straight answer. Magic existed just like rocks or wind or gravity; the last many learned men had argued the categorization of for centuries, for it was an invisible force just like magic while at the same time uncontrollable but through spells like nature. Temperature directed wind, but what directed gravity?  
  
Distracting himself with that old riddle Cala let his hands weave the patterns of a spell. Anger helped with stamina and speed but could be the death of magic. Those with the talent for reaching out and grasping the tendrils of energy which permeated the world could rarely do so in a blind rage; numbness or cold anger was possible, calm clearheadedness the golden ideal. Cala felt anything but calm.  
  
Finding the perpetrator of this crime was paramount but bringing down the wall of rocks was an easier and also important task; one whose solving might rattle the other maza into revealing themselves. Cala let his spell brush along the boulders, then the stones and at last the pebbles, all in a matter of seconds, searching for the keystone at which to tug.  
  
He ignored the guards’ muted sounds of awe as the rock-wall came tumbling down in an orderly river of stones and put all his energy into the next task. A gasp of pure surprise was wrung from him when he felt the release of another spell join the scent of an approaching thunderstorm that had been the finishing of his own.  
  
“There is no need for you to search further,” a voice said to his left. A trembling voice.  
  
Dread creeping up his spine, Cala opened his eyes and turned to see the person who had spoken.  
  
She was a young woman. Not a child, no, but not the wizened adult he had expected, and judging by her dark hair and gray skin she had a fair share of goblin blood in her veins. She had to be of an age with the Archduchess Vedero Drazhin, at most. She wore a common farmer’s garb, not the traditional maza robes but there was no mistaken the sense of power recently used that radiated from her like heat from a fire. She had not only caused the rockfall, she had also just dispelled a weaving of blindness.  
  
“W-we give ourself to the mercy of the Imperial Guard,” she said, prostrating herself. With her face hidden against the stone of the cliff-top Cala could see that she had let herself begin to weep.  
  
With a heavy heart, Cala signaled for the guards to arrest her.

****

There was no time to set up a pavilion for a proper hearing. The compromised that had been reached was for Edrehasivar to remain on Velvet’s back while all around him dismounted. It was with a grim look of determination that Edrehasivar received the young maza. Those standing close to him could read the sadness behind his resolve, heartache for either himself, the woman, or both.  
  
Cala’s own heart felt as if it would turn to stone at any second.  
  
The woman did not fight the guards. She had sat unmoving while she awaited her trial, staring at the ground with empty eyes.  
  
Csevet Aisava had, along with reinforcements for the soldiers, been the first to catch them up once the way had opened. His past as a courier had been more evident than ever in how he had steered his horse among the remains of the rockfall, then swung himself down and made the last of the way nimbly on foot when the horse could go no further.  
  
While the soldiers set upon the combined task of clearing away the boulders to the side of the road and setting up an even tighter watch around the Emperor, Aisava had taken up hovering at Edrehasivar’s side as if he too were nohecharei. Though this was not exactly unusual. He stood alongside Velvet’s flank now as the traitor maza was lead before the Emperor.  
  
Edrehasivar said nothing as the guards took a step back and all four of his nohecharei moved forward to surround her. Anyone could have taken silence for umbrage. Cala suspected that Edrehasivar in reality simply could not think of what to say.  
  
Thus it was the woman who spoke first. “Serenity,” she said, voice and body both shaking, “we humbly throw ourself at your feet.”  
  
Edrehasivar remained silent for another few heartbeats. He did not look to be searching for words exactly - more searching for _appropriate_ words.  
  
“Who are ‘we’?” he settled for, at last, eyes fixed on the trembling woman as if he was forcing himself to look at her.  
  
“We are Mearu, Your Serenity. Only Mearu. Of the town of Soratu.”  
  
Only a novice then, who’d taken the maza vows but not earned the rank of michenmaza and the right to the name Athmaza yet. Strange with a pupil so apt she at this age could set off a rockfall and remain both standing and hidden afterward. Very strange.  
  
“You set the fire at the _Golden Serpent_ ,” Edrehasivar said, managing a veil of composure around himself.  
  
“We did.”  
  
“What did you intend with the fire and this rockfall?”  
  
Mearu shrugged. Cala heard Beshelar stifle a shout of fury. “We intended nothing. But we are ready to take all punishment for it that we deserve.  
  
“So punishment is what you sought?"  
  
Mearu shook her head and something fierce came over her previously meek expression. She had remained prostrate on the ground since the guards had let her go, but her eyes were now boring into the dirt as if she wished to set it on fire. Cala braced himself, in case he had to act.  
  
“As we said,” Mearu spoke to the ground, each word a curse, “we intended nothing. We were ordered to cast the spells we did. We are sorry, but we had no choice.” Her words softened toward the end of her tirade, fresh tears springing to her eyes.  
  
“Following orders to attack the Emperor is still treason!”  
  
Edrehasivar waved Beshelar into silence after that outburst. Cala watched him fume, glaring in impotent rage at the maza-woman. Cala did not know if he wished to catch his eye or not, to determine what had Beshelar most enraged.  
  
Cala was surprised to find Edrehasivar eyes on him next, instead of on the maza-woman. Blinking in incomprehension, he managed to figure out what response this look had sought when Edrehasivar turned to Kiru as well, a wordless request for their expertise.  
  
“Which Mazeitheileian do you hail from, Novice Mearu?” Kiru asked, her voice far steadier than Cala would have managed.  
  
“The Mazeitheileain of Soratu,” Mearu answered, again with that sudden fierceness. Maybe the woman was mad? Cala almost hoped so; madness would mean she had acted without rhyme or reason, without a plan or accomplices.  
  
But that thought only half occupied his mind. The other thought won attention. “Serenity, there is no Mazeitheileain in Soratu.”  
  
Mazeitheileainei, though not exactly rare, were well-known extensions of the Athmaz’are. Some may be as small as one maza and a handful of students, but they were all carefully documented and shared with all the higher ranking mazei. To imagine that one would exist without his or Kiru’s knowledge was ludicrous.  
  
Cala noted that his words brought an even fiercer grimace to Mearu’s face, but she fumed in silence, not contradicting him.  
  
Aisava, always the quick observer, bowed to Edrehasivar and withdrew, leaving to do or fetch Cala knew not what.  
  
They waited in oppressive silence. Cala took this time to study Mearu closer. She was not a raving fanatic - Cala had seen his share of them to know what to look for even in the calmer ones - nor did she seem to be after blood or riches. Madness still appeared the most logical explanation for her behavior, but the clearness of her eyes and obvious fear at the doom she had willingly walked to spoke against that.  
  
When Aisava returned he had three other secretaries with him, carrying an assortment of scrolls and books.  
  
“Serenity,” Aisava said after making obeisance, “we took the liberty to bring with us documents pertaining the townships we were to visit. These,” he gestured at the other secretaries’ burdens, “contain information about Soratu and its surrounding settlements.”  
  
When spoken of in such terms the scrolls looked few in number. But Soratu was small, more village than town, ever shrinking. Not a place that would generate much news.  
  
“What have you found, Csevet?” Edrehasivar asked, the minute sag of his shoulders showing his relief at looking away from Mearu.  
  
Csevet bowed again. “We had a faint memory of a Mazeitheileian having been mentioned in a letter from the guilds of Soratu.”  
  
He waved forward one of the other secretaries who knelt and presented the letter in question to Edrehasivar. Since Edrehasivar was seated on a horse the poor secretary had to stretch quite far to accomplish his task and he backed away as swiftly as he could after the letter was out of his hands, ears twitching with embarrassment.  
  
“As you see, Serenity,” Aisava continued as Edrehasivar unfolded the letter, “the letter is dated before the start of your reign and speaks of the canceling of a Mazeitheileian. A request to form a new Mazeitheileian had been sent to the Athmaz’are four months before this letter, but the maza who had sent the request sadly perished as a fever swept the township. With him and most of the students lost to illness, it was decided by the joint council of the town’s guilds that the request should be withdrawn.”  
  
For each word Aisava spoke Mearu trembled, though not with fear. She was a boiling kettle about to throw aside its lid.  
  
“Speak, Novice Mearu!” Edrehasivar commanded, not unkindly.  
  
Mearu sat up. She remained kneeling but now met Edrehasivar’s gaze with a look of confidence born from fury.  
  
“There _is_ a Mazeitheileian in Soratu,” she stated, her words heated. “We have lived there for two years alongside our sister and three others students. We are under the tutelage of Cthara Athmaza, who lives still, and…and under the command of Osmer Karelar.” The last name she spat out as if it left a foul taste in her mouth.  
  
“This Osmer Karelar,” Edrehasivar said when Mearu paused for breath, “who is he?”  
  
“He is the one who commanded us to burn the hotel and to block this path to you, Serenity.” Something like satisfaction joined fear and anger in Mearu’s voice. “He did not expect Your Imperial Serenity to continue your journey to Soratu once the _Golden Serpent_ burned in Ferho. He panicked when Your Serenity chose not the airships but to travel by land the last miles to Soratu. In his frenzy, he ordered me to stay behind and block the path.”  
  
“And you made sure the rocks fell where we could plainly see them, separating us from our retinue and most of our guards.” Edrehasivar shifted in his saddle and Velvet shifted with him, masking the fidget for a shift in the horse’s balance.  
  
“We do not presume to excuse our crimes,” Mearu said, shivering but keeping her back straight, “but we do wish for Osmer Karelar do receive his just share of the punishment.”  
  
“If you hate him so,” Cala found himself saying, “why did you follow his orders?” He was surprised at how harshly he spoke, and out of turn during an imperial hearing to boot. But what was said was said. He bowed in apology to Edrehasivar, who gave a curt nod in acknowledgment.  
  
“Osmer Karelar has our sister,” Mearu spoke after a beat of silence, her voice now a mere whisper. “We dared not… _could_ not disobey him. We know it is not a worthy excuse, but we could not risk her. We are sorry.”  
  
Edrehasivar nodded again, this time more to himself than in reaction to anything said to him. He gestured for the guards, his brow set in a thoughtful frown. “Take her away and keep her as far from the rest of the camp as possible. Give her food and a place to sleep, but watch her at all times.”  
  
“Yes, Serenity!” The guards did as ordered with celerity. Cala suspected the fact that a mere novice had kept herself hidden from their watchful eyes had hurt their pride.  
  
As if thinking the same thought, Edrehasivar turned to Captain Vizhenka and said: “Captain, please see to it that no harm comes to Novice Mearu. We wish to know the truth of this matter before any sentence is passed.”  
  
Captain Vizhenka saluted and made his way after the guards without hesitation, his face grim.  
  
“We wish for close counsel.” Edrehasivar swung himself down from Velvet’s back and a stable-hand quickly scurried over to the horse’s reins. “Where can we retire?”  
  
Aisava took the lead on this, spearheading a fairly disorganized march toward where a table and a number of chairs had been set up under a makeshift baldachin. Edrehasivar sat at the head of the table and Cala took up position with Kiru on his right-hand side, Telimezh and Beshelar on his left.  
  
“You noticed it too, then,” Edrehasivar said as they had all settled into position, addressing Aisava.  
  
Aisava, having had the other secretaries leave all scrolls and other correspondence on the table before dismissing them, picked up this thread of conversation as if reading the Emperor’s mind. “Yes. Cthara Athmaza is indeed the maza who wished to open a Mazeitheileian in Soratu two and a half years ago, as mentioned in the letter. We doubt a lowborn woman such as her would have the means to pay for such knowledge and though her maza talents seem strong, we doubt she could have stolen in among us and read it.”  
  
The last he directed at a question to Cala and Kiru. Cala nodded his agreement while Kiru said: “We do not believe so either.”  
  
Edrehasivar heaved a deep sigh, the sort which he never would allow himself while in view of people other than Aisava and the nohecharei. “What she has implied makes a frightening amount of sense. A lone novice maza would gain nothing from these actions, especially as she surrendered to our guards without a fight and without making any attempt at our life while she was in our presence.”  
  
Mearu pulling a knife or attempting to weave a spell while under the eye of two dachenmazei alongside two lieutenants, Hezhethora, and the Imperial Guard should have been a laughable thought, if not for the far too recent example of Eshevis Tethimar.  
  
“Who are the Karelada?” Edrehasivar asked Aisava, his eyes sweeping over the scrolls spread out on the table before him as if looking for clues or answers.  
  
“A minor family of which the head holds the title of baronet,” Aisava answered. “Beyond that, we fear we know very little. If Your Serenity wishes it, we shall send a courier for more information forthwith.”  
  
“We wish it.”  
  
Aisava once more bowed to Edrehasivar and made his way back to the larger part of the retinue,  
  
Before he could think his actions through, Cala found himself taking a knee and saying: “Serenity, we beg of you the favor of letting us go now to Soratu, to investigate the claims of Novice Mearu.”  
  
Edrehasivar’s surprise was obvious but he had gotten better at hiding such emotional reactions swiftly. He blinked twice, then said: “We thank you for your offer of service in this regard, Cala, but…why should we not send a Witness?”  
  
It was an honest question, deserving of an honest answer. “Serenity, if it is true that Cthara Athmaza is alive with all of Soratu unaware or keeping him and his students a secret, no Witness found here will be trustworthy. Sending for a Witness from outside of Soratu will mean at least a day’s wait. We are a mere two hours ride from Soratu. Please-” Cala swallowed, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Please let us go and see what is to be seen before news of the clearing of this pass reach Osmer Karelar.”  
  
The corner of Edrehasivar's eye twitched as did his ears, a clear sign he wished to scowl but would not allow it of himself.   
  
“Serenity-” Beshelar tried to cut in. Edrehasivar spoke over him:  
  
“You speak wisely.” A pause. “We…we believe it to be the best course of action. If Osmer Karelar ordered these attacks on our person we wish to know the truth.”  
  
Cala avoided looking at Beshelar. It felt that was how he had spent most of this dreadful morning; the pleasantries of the night and the walk to the Emperor’s pavilion were all but forgotten.  
  
“Cala, be our eyes.” Leaning closer, as close as an Emperor could get to his nohecharis while still within the bounds of propriety, Edrehasivar said: “Take care.”  
  
“I shall,” Cala said, allowing himself the briefest of informality.  
  
The details of the plan were swift in the making. The imperial guards and Hezhethora were all frantic energy and eager for work, bees fretting over a hole in the wall of their hive. It was arranged that Cala go first, divested of all signs that marked him as nohecharis but still dressed as suited a dachenmaza. Beshelar and Captain Vizhenka would follow with as many guards as could be spared. No one said the word 'bait' but they all knew what Cala's role would be. If there was evidence to be had it would have to be irrefutable - a man brazen enough to keep a maza captive for years would have contingency plans. If that was the case. If Novice Mearu was not lying. _If, if, if..._  
  
Cala hurried to his horse the moment he was excused from the strategy meeting. The need for haste was twofold as Telimezh and Kiru would need relief before the evening.  
  
It was as he made to sit up that Beshelar caught up to him. Cala did not try to evade him. In fact, this was rather a welcome gesture.  
  
Beshelar’s fingers dug into his shoulder with bruising force. “I will be right on thy heels,” he said, with promise instead of threat. “The moment thou signals for aid I will be at thine side. Dost hear me?”  
  
“I hear and trust,” Cala replied, managing a true smile for the first time since they had entered this cursed pass. “I will be safe with thee as my guard.”  
  
Beshelar said no more, but his eyes spoke volumes. Cala mounted his steed, gave Beshelar one final smile, then urged his horse toward Soratu.


	3. The Baronet in Soratu

The weaving of spells took a lot of effort for a maza, even a dachenmaza. Cala saved all his reserves until he got into the town of Soratu proper. Finding the home of the Karelada took no effort and the servant at the door was quick to explain that Baronet Teris Karelar could be found in his hunting lodge, on a tall hill not far outside the town’s border.  
  
Though his horse was tired, Cala soldiered on, knowing Beshelar and the others would not be far behind him, and that any spies working for Osmar Karelar already could have reached their goal. The rain that started up as noon passed did nothing to cheer his mood. He was soaked through and dark of thought when he arrived at the hunting lodge, half an hour past luncheon.  
  
No servant opened this door. Instead, he was met by a young man, dressed in ragged clothes unfit even for an attendant of a mere baronet. He stared at Cala with wide eyes.  
  
“May we enter?” Cala asked, careful to keep his voice gentle despite the tempest of emotions brewing inside of him.  
  
The young man stumbled out of his way, pulling the door so wide open that the rain swept in alongside Cala. The man was off without a word before Cala could speak to him, leaving Cala to close the door behind himself or remain in the oncoming storm.  
  
For a hunting lodge, the building's interior had few lodge-like qualities. No, Cala knew it for what it was the moment he stepped inside. The hall he stood in brought back so many memories. Cala took in the familiar wall-hangings, dusty and commonplace as they were. This was not the place he had learned but it was similar in all the ways that would stir nostalgia in any maza.  
  
Not yet knowing if this was a good sign or no, Cala waited patiently for whomever the young man had rushed to fetch. He did not have to wait long.  
  
“And what can we do for you, traveler?”  
  
The man who had spoken oozed confidence with an edge to it. He wore fine clothes. Not fine enough to mark him as high nobility, but finer than Cala had expected a baronet living in a small town to be able to afford.  
  
Cala searched the man’s face. He could not pride himself on being a great reader of character - especially not after Dazhis - but through his work as nohecharis he had learned a thing or two about for what one should look. The man before him might have the posture, smile, and voice of a person of power and poise, but there was a light in his eyes that spoke differently: light that brought Cala further hope.  
  
“We are Cala Athmaza,” Cala introduced himself with a bow polite enough to suit any minor nobility. “We are seeking our friend, Cthara Athmaza.”  
  
“No one here by that name,” the man said, his eyes and ears subtly telling another story. “This is our hunting lodge. We fear you have been given faulty directions, Mer…?”  
  
“Cala Athmaza,” Cala repeated, though the man must surely have heard his name the first time. Did the fool not realize what the hall told any maza who entered it? Was he that confident in his charade? “And to whom have we the honor of speaking?”  
  
The man did not answer. His eyes darted to the shadows at Cala’s right-hand side, seeking something. “Cala Athmaza, you said?”  
  
“That is correct.” Cala heard steps behind him, too heavy to be the young man from earlier. He could see horror and realization dawning on the face before him, though the man tried to hide it.  
  
The man gave a laugh that he might have intended to be easy. “You are far from the Emperor’s side, Athmaza.”  
  
The steps were coming closer, as was the man; foxes circling a baited trap. Cala did his best to keep a mask of polite confusion in place. Few bothered to learn the names of the Emperor's nohecharei. Yet fewer had reason to bother. This was almost too easy.  
  
“We are,” Cala said, centering himself.  
  
The man struck at Cala’s head. Luckily, Cala’s magic was swifter than the man’s arm.

****

There were no shouts of anger or clanging of metal as Beshelar and Captain Vizhenka’s guards stormed the hunting-lodge-Mazeitheileian. Cala would have taken the time to be impressed if his head had not ached as terribly as it did.  
  
The shouts and clanging did come but their source was the man and the owner of the steps. More people burst into the hall from other rooms and Cala struggled to right himself, steadying himself against a wall.  
  
Calling to his inner forces Cala fought to bring the world around himself into focus and had to stifle a cry of shock as a figure rushed up to him. Thankfully, Cala sensed no attack in the movement and when the details of the face before him cleared he recognized it as Beshelar’s. Cala felt gentle fingers at his temple and flinched as they found a tender spot along his hairline.  
  
“Cala! Cala, what have they done to thee?” Beshelar’s worry would have been touching had it not rung through Cala’s skull like a revethahal.  
  
“Nothing, nothing. Merely a sudden headache.” He almost added an endearment to the end of that sentence, but managed to refrain from it at the last second. Such a lapse would only have convinced Beshelar that the blow to his head had been a mortal one.  
  
“I will be fine, Deret, truly. See to the villains here before thou frets over me. Please.”  
  
This earned him an exasperated sigh. “Thou art fortuitous that thine magic is strong and that we were close. The rain would have hidden the fainter light of a less accomplished maza.”  
  
Cala’s smile widened despite his best efforts. “Flatterer.”  
  
Beshelar did not leave Cala’s side. He found a chair for Cala to sit on and then stood guard over him, for the struggle around them had already begun to die down. In the end, it was a swift and effortless skirmish - the Baronet Karelar had no fighters employed who could match the skill of the imperial guard. Nor did the people of his house seem loyal as the young man who had opened the door for Cala appeared halfway through the struggle to set fire to Osmer Karelar’s gaudy jacket.  
  
It _was_ Osmer Karelar who had come to meet Cala and clubbed him across the head with his bare fist. He did not wish to introduce himself still when the imperial guards had him and his men arrested, but his employees were eager to give his name, repeatedly.  
  
The young man too became more talkative as the struggle ended. He gave his own name as Vura, a student of Cthara Athmaza, whom he claimed was locked up in the cellar with the other students.  
  
“Needs thou a healer?” Beshelar asked Cala as Captain Vizhenka lead half of the imperial guards toward the cellar.  
  
Cala smiled, taking in the scene of arrested rouges and self-made jailers. His head ached but his mind was clearer than it had been since the _Golden Serpent_ burned. The men before him were not mazei any more than the stones of the walls around him were birds.  
  
“Cala!”  
  
Shaking his head, slowly and carefully, Cala sought Beshelar’s hand with his own in the shadows of the nook where they sat. He stood, giving Beshelar’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “I am merely relieved, not dying. I feel neither ill nor dizzy, so rest should be all I need.”  
  
Beshelar grumbled words too quiet for Cala to hear but he asked no more questions and made no more demands or comments.  
  
“You have no reason to arrest us!” Baronet Karelar shouted as the guards escorted him out into the rain. “We demand to know of what we are accused!”  
  
No one paid him any mind, his guilt too obvious to be discussed.  
  
As the prisoners were ushered out the people from the cellar were brought up and presented to Beshelar and Cala. Captain Vizhenka lead the guard but the nohecharei were the voice of the Emperor in this.  
  
Mearu’s words turned out to be true about this as well. There were two more young men besides Vura, barely old enough to be called adults. There was also Cthara Athmaza, a frail and shaken young maza who thanked them all humbly and profusely for their rescue of him and his students.  
  
According to Cthara’s testimony, the Baronet Karelar had invited him to a dinner during his third week in Soratu. A dinner that left Cthara sick, likely from poison, and Baronet Karelar invading the building that he had begun to gather students in. His goal? To have the maza and his students help cheat customers of Karelar’s employed merchants by enhancing the fabrics with minor spells. A petty and mad crime, which had grown in size month by month. Cthara did not list all the things Karelar had made him and his students do, but Cala was oddly relieved to find those crimes he did mention to be void of violence of greater scope. The students had not been harmed, other than having suffered the terror of imprisonment and vague threats. Karelar had ostensibly relied on bullying, the unknown, and separation to keep Cthara and the students in line. Horrible, but it could have been so much worse. Cala silently thanked Cstheio Caireizhasan for that mercy, although it was something the lady of the stars rarely was in the business of providing.  
  
There was a fifth freed prisoner, a woman not much younger than Cthara Athmaza. She wore no sign of being part of this shaken Mazeitheileian but Cthara Athmaza looked to her more than once as he spoke, apparently waiting for her to be allowed to voice something.  
  
“We are sorry for how you have suffered, Cthara,” Cala said when the waves of gratitude began to die down. “Know that word will travel swiftly to the Adremaza and His Imperial Serenity both. You are safe now. Would you please introduce us to your companions?”  
  
“Of course!” Cthara bowed and gently nudged the three boys forward. “These are three of my four students, Vura, Relis, and Kelet. The young lady to my right is Min Moro Nokin, older sister of my fourth student Mearu.”  
  
The woman curtsied. “Our sister,” she said, ears lowered in worry and dismay, “does she live?”  
  
_This_ was Mearu’s sister? Cala, who had imagined a girl younger than Mearu, maybe as young as an infant, was too stunned to answer.  
  
Beshelar, not so much. “She is in the custody of the Imperial Guard.”  
  
Min Nokin took this news with the composure worthy of an empress. “We are the oldest of our family. We will take on responsibility for all that she has been forced to do.”  
  
“And we as her teacher will take responsibility as well!” Cthara Athmaza said, less composed.  
  
Beshelar was the first to speak again: “We will let His Imperial Serenity and the Witnesses judge the faith of you and your student. You will be asked to remain here until the trial is concluded.”  
  
Silent acceptance met his words. The maza, his students, and Mearu's sister made themselves scarce, followed by the remaining guards into another room.  
  
Cala did not know what he felt. The whole affair had occurred over the matter of a handful of hours and had contained sufficient suspense that it left him as a wrung-out piece of cloth. His head ached. He wished to sleep even though he knew it was inadvisable.  
  
“Deret,” he said, taking off his spectacles to clean them, “wouldst thou walk with me?”

****

Fury was not a word one associated often with Edrehasivar VII. Cala had been witness to such emotions in his Emperor only a handful of times and always for a good reason.  
  
This was, undoubtedly, such a reason.  
  
“Osmer Teris Karelar.” Edrehasivar’s words dripped with ice as he spoke and his eyes were black with rage. He was seated in the largest room of Soratu’s Mazeitheileian, in what presumably had been Karelar’s own chair before his arrest, and despite his young years, he towered over all. “You have for years held prisoner innocent and honest mazei without earning any attention from the local guards or Witnesses. You forced a young novice in your care to make attacks upon our person in an attempt to hide your crimes from us. We would congratulate you on your skills at deception had you chosen a less heinous manner in which to use your talents. It seems to us the stage has lost a great talent.”  
  
Sarcasm was another thing Edrehasivar only seemed to allow himself in moments of emotional turmoil.  
  
Osmer Karelar did not speak to defend himself. He had spoken, at length, before he was brought before the Emperor. He had yelled at the Witness of Soratu as the accusations against him were listed. The Witness, an elderly man, had lost his tempered and yelled back, bitterness and frustration flaring to the surface. As it turned out, there _had_ been a fever that ravaged Soratu’s population two years previous. Karelar had taken this tragedy and turned it into an opportunity to enact his nefarious plan, fooling or bribing anyone who could have acted against him.  
  
To say there was bad blood between the leadership of Soratu and Karelar was an understatement. Many of the guild leaders had asked to attend the impromptu trial, which Edrehasivar allowed. They sat along the walls of the room, hungry vultures circling a dying animal.  
  
When the Witness had spoken his piece, summarizing all testimonies against Karelar, the Baronet had run out of air. He listened to Edrehasivar’s words with a dazed and indifferent expression, unmoving and unresponsive. He had to know his chances for clemency were insignificant.  
  
“Osmer Karelar, you will be relieved of your title as baronet. You will repay all those you have cheated, attacked, and those you have unlawfully imprisoned. For daring to lay hands on our nohecharis, you will relinquish all your remaining personal belongings to him, for him to do with as he wishes.” Edrehasivar’s voice rang across the room, cutting the air like daggers. “We leave it to the Witnesses to decide on a final sentence but we strongly recommend a long imprisonment, to let you experience the horrors you have visited on others. Thus we have spoken.”  
  
Karelar was dragged out of the room, still silent as the grave. Cala watched this exit without emotion; watching a criminal earn his just sentence was little in comparison to what would come next.  
  
Cthara Athmaza, Min Moro Nokin, and Novice Mearu entered the room under guard but without the chains Karelar wore. They all prostrated themselves before the Emperor, remaining so until Edrehasivar said: “Please, rise.”  
  
They all obeyed, Min Nokin and Cthara placing their hands on Mearu’s shoulders, flanking her like Beshelar, Telimezh, Kiru, and Cala flanked Edrehasivar.  
  
“You have suffered much,” Edrehasivar said, fury ebbing to sympathy and hesitancy.  
  
“Serenity, we-”  
  
Edrehasivar raised a hand, calling for silence and receiving it. “Min Nokin, we understand Cthara Athmaza and your sister’s situation. All the actions they took against us and others were under duress, correct?”  
  
Min Nokin curtsied, looking to not know what else to do. “Yes, Serenity.”  
  
The Witness had already spoken with them and the other maza novices, as well as shared their testimonies with Edrehasivar. This final meeting was a formality to establish what was to be done. Cala wished he knew what had been said before now, but he had been with the healers while the Witness met with Edrehasivar and there had been no time for Beshelar or anyone else to give him a summation.  
  
Edrehasivar sat poised and calm, even offering a smile to the three people trembling before him. Cala fought not to let out the breath he had been holding all at once.  
  
“You have all three served a two year long prison sentence under cruel guard,” Edrehasivar said. “When given the chance to deny your involvement in Karelar’s crimes, you instead confessed and offered to serve what sentence we would give you. This, to us, speaks of loyalty not only to Ethuveraz and ourself but to decency and moral.”  
  
Min Nokin’s eyes were full of tears but she returned the Emperor’s smile with a brilliant one of her own. Novice Mearu and Cthara Athmaza only looked stunned.  
  
Edrehasivar turned his attention to the maza, seeking his gaze. “Cthara Athmaza, we restore full ownership of this building to you as is your right. We wish you all the best in your work.”  
  
“Thank you, Serenity!” Cthara exclaimed, letting go of Mearu’s shoulder long enough to bow deeply, his hair brushing the carpet on which he stood.  
  
“Novice Mearu,” Edrehasivar continued, “we understand your talent for the maza gift is exceptional.”  
  
Mearu, blinking, ears signaling her inner turmoil like airship flags, answered: “Y-your Serenity honors us!”  
  
Edrehasivar waited for her to recover equilibrium of emotion before he said: “To avoid slanderous rumors and demonstrate our trust in your honesty, we wish for you to be moved closer to us, as a student of the Athmaz’are.”  
  
Cala recognized himself in the joy that lit Novice Mearu’s countenance. He had himself been chosen under much less dramatic circumstances, but the prestige of being allowed to learn at the Athmaz’are was a distinction for which all novices longed.  
  
“Your sister will be allowed to accompany you, should she wish it. Our personal secretary will see to finding her a position suiting her skills.”  
  
“Serenity-”  
  
“Serenity, we-”  
  
Edrehasivar took mercy on their tongue-tied attempts at gratitude. “We have spoken.”  
  
Thus Novice Mearu, Min Nokin and Cthara Athmaza were led out of the room, no longer under guard of any kind.  
  
The rest of that evening passed in a fog. Cala’s head ached still despite the tonic the healers had given him for the pain and he felt slow and simple.  
  
“Cala, are you truly well?” Edrehasivar’s voice broke through the mist and Cala noted that they were alone in the room. “Do you not need rest?”  
  
“He _does_ need rest,” Beshelar cut in before Cala could form an answer. “We will see to it.”  
  
“We can last an hour or two more,” Kiru said, Telimezh nodding in agreement on Edrehasivar’s other side. “Go rest.”  
  
“Rest,” Edrehasivar agreed. “We hope for your swift recovery.”  
  
Cala suspected that was a subtle imperial order to rest whether he wished to or not. He made no protest, allowing Beshelar to lead him away.  
  
The room they ended up in smelled of dust and cold, its window newly closed and the sheets fresh but old. Beshelar shut and bolted the door behind them, then deposited Cala on the bed with such care Cala had to laugh at him.  
  
“Thou needs not treat me as if I were dying, love,” he whispered into Beshelar’s ear as the other bent low to examine him. “The healers have left me in thy care, which means I cannot be too badly wounded .”  
  
Beshelar’s gruff chuckle allowed Cala to finally relax into the bed. It seemed the day had come full circle, ending as it had begun.  
  
“Art thou truly well?” Beshelar whispered in the dim light of the room. “When thou rode off…”  
  
“Deret, I am sorry.” Fingers touched his lips, calling for silence.  
  
“Thou hast nothing to explain,” Beshelar - Deret - said. “Dazhis?”  
  
Cala covered Deret’s hand with his. “Thou knows me too well.”  
  
There was no need for further exchange of words on that topic. A companionable silence fell over the room and Cala’s eyes grew heavier and heavier.  
  
“Did the healers give thee leave to sleep?”  
  
“They did.”  
  
“Then sleep. I will guard thee.”  
  
Cala nodded. With a smile on his lips, he allowed the soft darkness of dreams to embrace him.


End file.
